The one who called on Griggs in his lodgings wrote ‘barrister-at-law’ after his name, and had the right to do so.  He had languished in chambers, briefless and half starving, either because he had no talent for the bar, or because he had failed to marry a solicitor’s daughter.  He himself was inclined to attribute his want of success to the latter cause.  But he had not wasted his time, though he was more than metaphorically threadbare, and his waist would have made a sensation at a staymaker’s.  He had watched and pondered on many curious cases for years; and one day, when a ‘high-class’ criminal had baffled the police and had well-nigh confounded the Attorney-General and proved himself a saint, the starving barrister had gone quietly to work in his own way, had discovered the truth, had taken his information to the prosecution, had been the means of sending the high-class one to penal servitude, and had covered himself with glory; since when he had grown sleek and well-liking, if not rich, as a professional detective.

Griggs had been perfectly frank, and had told without hesitation all he could remember of the circumstances.  In answer to further questions he said he knew Mr. Van Torp tolerably well, and had not seen him in the Opera House on the evening of the murder.  He did not know whether the financier’s character was violent.  If it was, he had never seen any notable manifestation of temper.  Did he know that Mr. Van Torp had once lived on a ranch, and had killed two men in a shooting affray?  Yes, he had heard so, but the shooting might have been in self-defence.  Did he know anything about the blowing up of the works of which Van Torp had been accused in the papers?  Nothing more than the public knew.  Or anything about the circumstances of Van Torp’s engagement to Miss Bamberger?  Nothing whatever.  Would he read the statement and sign his name to it?  He would, and he did.

Griggs thought the young man acted more like an ordinary lawyer than a detective, and said so with a smile.

‘Oh no,’ was the quiet answer.  ’In my business it’s quite as important to recognise honesty as it is to detect fraud.  That’s all.’

For his own part the man of letters did not care a straw whether Van Torp had committed the murder or not, but he thought it very unlikely.  On general principles, he thought the law usually found out the truth in the end, and he was ready to do what he could to help it.  He held his tongue, and told no one about the detective’s visit, because he had no intimate friend in England; partly, too, because he wished to keep his name out of what was now called ‘the Van Torp scandal.’

He would never have alluded to the matter if he had not accidentally found himself next to Lady Maud at dinner.  She had always liked him and trusted him, and he liked her and her father.  On that evening she spoke of Van Torp within the first ten minutes, and expressed her honest indignation at the general attack made on ’the kindest man that ever lived.’  Then Griggs felt that she had a sort of right to know what was being done to bring against her friend an accusation of murder, for he believed Van Torp innocent, and was sure that Lady Maud would warn him; but it was for her sake only that Griggs spoke, because he pitied her.